


I've run out of my words, my song

by rusałka (NPh)



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher (Video Game), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types, Wiedźmin | The Witcher Series - Andrzej Sapkowski
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Body Horror, Canon-Typical Violence, Character Death, Emotionally Constipated Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia Loves Jaskier | Dandelion, Hurt/Comfort, Jaskier | Dandelion Loves Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Jaskier | Dandelion Whump, M/M, Marzanna - Freeform, Mentions of Myth & Folklore, Mythical Beings & Creatures, Not Really Character Death, Post-Episode: S01E06 Rare Species, Slavic Folklore, Touch-Starved, Wild Hunt, kind of
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-11
Updated: 2021-02-11
Packaged: 2021-03-17 20:55:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,686
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29356821
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NPh/pseuds/rusa%C5%82ka
Summary: The larks flash through the chilly morning with their song - doing what they do best, doing what they were intended to.They need no meaning and it’s simple. They’re a part of the world and there are things in this world that will last long after they’re gone forever but they do not fret about the end. It’s just the way the world is.Larks don’t struggle. They live in the moment. That’s what they’re meant to do.Some time has passed since their parting and they are ready to forgive one another. Unfortunately, when Geralt finds Jaskier the circumstances are slightly different from what he expects. However, he is determined to make amends, even if it means that instead of using a sword he has to rely on all the terrible things he has no idea how to wield. Care and tenderness, that is.
Relationships: Cirilla Fiona Elen Riannon & Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Cirilla Fiona Elen Riannon & Jaskier | Dandelion, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia & Jaskier | Dandelion, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 3
Kudos: 26





	I've run out of my words, my song

**Author's Note:**

> Hello there! Thanks for stopping by!  
> A big shout-out to my beta who is the best and dedicated her freetime to teach me some English! This fic has been a long time in the making. I started writing it around October but there were many obstacles but I did it and here we are. I took some liberties with what Marzanna is - I took what I remember about her from my childhood and then threw some stuff I read while doing research for this fic and here we are. I tried to make it as Slavic as I could and I hope it turned out okay. The titles of the story and chapters come from "The Rockrose and the Thistle" by The Amzing Devil (because I'm a proper Witcher fic writer who struggles with naming their works).  
> No trigger warnings for the first chapter since I couldn't think of any but if you find something that bothers you, feel free to tell me in the comments so that I can edit this part of the notes.  
> Thanks again for stopping by and if you like my work I would be delighted if you leave a comment!  
> Enjoy!

The larks have barely started singing so it’s an early hour even for his standards . They’re zipping through the cold air, barely a blur in the morning light, their singing ethereal and otherworldly. 

Although they are here and now, it still feels as if a great curtain is being lifted and the spiritual world gives way to the mundane plain reality.

It’s not so plain anymore, though. It’s complicated in the worst way possible - a human way. Nature, however, doesn’t seem to care. It never did, thank gods. Nature, consisting of everything that is not human, is always just there - watching and waiting. Looking down at humans pitifully because what else can be done in the face of their pathetic matters? It’s sad really and hard to imagine what it must be like to strive for meaning while your life is so short and your being so fragile?

Nature doesn’t need meaning. It’s a meaning in itself. Creatures even more feeble than humans are a part of it. They live shorter. It’s far easier to hurt them. To kill them. And still they don’t struggle in search of meaning. They don’t feel the need of defining themselves.

They just are and it’s enough.

The larks flash through the chilly morning with their song - doing what they do best, doing what they were intended to.

They need no meaning and it’s simple. They’re a part of the world and there are things in this world that will last long after they’re gone forever but they do not fret about the end. It’s just the way the world is.

Larks don’t struggle. They live in the moment. That’s what they’re meant to do.

Pathetic and in the end ironically meaningless human conflicts may be but nature always has an answer apart from just watching and waiting. Nature doesn’t like to be disturbed after all.

There is no pattern but every time when something that may change the world order is happening, something equally captivating occurs. Some mystical creatures crawl out of their dens - legendary, unobserved for so long that only old books and stories whispered in shadows bear any information on them.

This time is no exception and so Geralt sits on a log not far from their humble camp, Ciri yawning beside him.

They spent the night on a small hill overlooking the main road which makes it a perfect place to watch and wait.

It was Ciri who insisted that they should get up early and try to catch a glimpse of the creature that some chatty fishwives were telling about to everyone who came across their stalls in the last town they stopped in. Listening to such gossip isn’t Geralt’s thing but Ciri was captivated by them so he had to wait for her while one of the women was describing exaggeratedly the strange procession that has been roaming their land for nearly a year now. Calling this brief stop in their journey a delight would be an exaggeration. Nonetheless, it had its perks. Mainly, it was that spark of interest in Ciri’s eyes and her enthusiastic smile when she listened about Marzanna and her procession. Because that was what it was all about.

Geralt had to admit that it explained a few things. First and foremost the unsettling feeling that was growing stronger with every step further towards the North. Back when they were closer to the heart of the continent he thought it was the Nilfgaardians closing on them each day but he changed his mind. Marzanna’s procession makes more sense at least when it comes to his medallion vibrating as if some strong source of magic is passing nearby unseen. Apart from that everything the fishwives told Ciri is useless. Geralt doesn’t know much about Marzanna but his knowledge on gods in general is limited because he doesn’t have to deal with them on a regular basis. Also, such creatures are mostly harmless. Marzanna, for instance, takes care of lost souls - those who died non-culpable. Young boys sent to be slaughtered as cannon fodder in wars between self-righteous noblemen. People hopelessly lost in the woods. Abandoned and never found. Those who did not deserve to die but died anyway. She is said to take them to join her procession and lead them to the place where they will finally find peace.

Geralt doesn’t give it much thought but Ciri does and not only because the legend seems interesting to her. No, Geralt can see it in her big green eyes. The guilt. She is a princess and people laid down their lives for her. Now the fishwives' prattle gets even more on Geralt’s nerves because Ciri’s upset and he can’t comfort her. He has no idea how to approach the subject, how to tell her that it’s not her fault. 

So he can only watch how she’s silently beating herself with the mental image of countless lives sacrificed so that she could live.

He wants to help, he really does, but he’s not good with words. Anyone would be better at this than him. Unfortunately, Yennefer is nowhere to be found. However, Geralt isn’t sure if she would make much difference. Neither of them is good with words, especially words of comfort.

Jaskier would know what to tell Ciri and not just because the only thing he does is making noise, talking included. He would know because he's good with emotions and such. He sings about them so surely he would know how to cheer Ciri up.

But he isn't nearby either and Geralt has to manage on his own. Which means not managing at all because the closest thing to comfort he can offer are grunts since he has no idea what to say.

He's not good with words and he knows it. He allowed them to be an outlet of bottled up emotions once and drove Jaskier away.

He silently hoped to come across the bard when they stopped in a town a few times more than was necessary. He doesn't intend to apologize, no. Mostly, because he's not sure how to do it but also because Jaskier is annoying and easily hurt both physically and emotionally but he is also forgiving. Geralt is sure that when they finally meet again the bard will be more than ready to forget everything and simply join them. Jaskier is like that. Easygoing and kind, pleasant company even, although the witcher would never tell him that.

Geralt tried hugging Ciri once and it helped a bit. It helped even more when she clung to him and he didn't let go of her.

So he's holding her now as well. They are sitting together on the log, watching the route below. 

Ciri asked only once how they would know if the procession willould take the main road. He told her that he can sense them coming and that was enough for an explanation.

The larks above them are still singing joyfully and everything is eerily peaceful. Geralt can sense the procession nearing them. The slight smell of iron muted by pine resin and the chilly feeling that spreads from where the medallion rests on his chest to his very core.

Witchers don't feel, not like humans, and today Geralt is glad for it because it means that Ciri is spared. She doesn't feel the crawling dread slowly etching it's way inside her body and the numbing calmness hanging in the chilly morning air.

They are really close now, they will emerge from the thick forest and continue on the road any moment now. Geralt knows it, although he can't hear them. They make no sound at all.

What he can hear is Ciri's heartbeat which speeds up significantly when the first participants of the procession enter the track. He can feel her trembling so he tightens his hold.

The people that emerge from the forest are mostly young men. It's not surprising at all. Some of them wear armour but mostly they seem to have been called to military service because of the Nilfgaardian threat. Each one has some sort of weapon - swords, bows and even scythes.

They move unhurriedly and gracefully. Every one of them is pale and dressed in black. They walk shoulder to shoulder like in a vanguard. enough other participants of the procession appear - they seem to be merchants, farmers and many, many more. Adults and children. The poor and gentry. And then in the middle of the crowd walks a tall creature.

It looks mostly human but even from this far Geralt can see that her face looks more like a skull than an actual face. Its head is crowned with white hair that resembles gossamer and hay tangled together. The eyes are big and unmistakably blue but it's a deadly shade - deep and hollow, dark like the sea on a stormy day. It's Marzanna herself. Her dress is black and sewed with lace that looks very much like withered leaves. She brings to mind an image of a queen with her court and in a way that is precisely what Geralt and Ciri witness.

After all, she roams the Continent in search of her subjects.

They sit too far away to see the faces in the crowd but Geralt thinks it’s for the best because Ciri is trying and failing miserably to suppress her shudders. Her eyes are trained on the procession and she is clearly captivated but Geralt can smell her apprehension. It’s a fascinating sight indeed but also very unsettling.

The witcher’s face is impassive as he looks at the crowd. They all seem to be sleepwalking. Their eyes are wide open but they give a sense of absence, being deprived of any trace of consciousness. Their faces are lax and indifferent. Still, Geralt observes it with calmness. It’s just a short break to give variety to their journey. He is not concerned. Ciri seems quite disturbed by what she is witnessing but he’s sure she’ll get over it. There is nothing to worry about.

That is until he spots a familiar face in the crowd.


End file.
